


Tickle My Fancy

by Dame_Syrup (mary_pseud)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Bird People, Burlesque, F/M, Fan dancing, Fans, Kinkmeme, Public Nudity, Sneezing, Tickling, feather fans, feathers - Freeform, public dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 07:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17504027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mary_pseud/pseuds/Dame_Syrup
Summary: For the kinkmeme prompt: Four/Sarah - playing with feathers, a sneeze=1/10th of an orgasm





	Tickle My Fancy

"My – wrists – are – killing – me!" Sarah Jane gasped as she spun.

"Just keep dancing!" The Doctor was panting as well.

They were both in a giant wooden hall, lit by torches. The walls were lined with elaborately woven rush mats, the same ones that scrunched under their bare feet, and the roof was open to a sky blazing with stars. But no one was paying attention to that.

The dancers were the centre of attention, atop a high stage. The spectators creaked and purred as their unhappy guests danced. The Doctor and Sarah's nude forms were hidden and then revealed (mostly hidden, in Sarah's case) by the giant white feathered fans they clutched in their hands.

"How long do we have to keep doing this?" There hadn't been a chance to ask; they'd simply wandered into the village, and found themselves stripped and put up for display.

"Until they're happy with our performance! Smile, Sarah!" The Doctor smiled, his curls flying everywhere as he pirouetted.

"Happy. Happy," she muttered, flapping the fans against herself – they tickled her, all over. Who would think that a species could take off someone's clothes so quickly with just their beaks? Because the spectators were birds: very large and presumably intelligent birds, with bills and feathers. For that matter – she paused for a moment and arched one of the fans in front of her, mentally comparing the size of the feathers to those adorning the backs of the aliens – these fans must be made from their own feathers.

"I said keep dancing!" and a scratchy blow landed on her bare bum. She whirled and faced the Doctor.

"You – you –" He turned around, and she quickly flicked one of her fans edge-on to him and ran the feathers in a swift rippling pass between his thighs, tickling his balls, right up the crack of his arse and all along his spine.

"Now you're for it!" he shouted, and started to swat at her with his fans. Abandoning her attempts to cover herself, she swatted back. The audience appeared to approve of this new dance. The travellers rowed at the air and each other with great sweeps of the fans, dodging more often than not, and the bird-aliens whistled and chirped their opinion, whatever that was.

Sarah Jane's face was flushed with exertion, and the flush went all the way down to her breasts. The fans whisked and swooped through the air, driven by her furious hands. She was so angry at the Doctor right now, but not angry enough to close the fan and turn it into a club. Instead she just swatted and swatted, and he struck back. She didn't want to admit how the tickling touch of the feathers all over was starting to arouse her.

"That's the spirit!" The Doctor had a clearly unfair advantage in this fight, because his arms were longer. Driven by that and by his taunting tone, Sarah ducked under his next blow and ran the tips of both fans up his front. His front...

The Doctor was excited as well by the dance, apparently. And unlike Sarah, he couldn't hide it. She watched as her hands involuntarily slowed, as the long soft feathers brushed up his thighs, over his erection (it visibly bounded at that touch, slick-tipped and ready) and then up his belly, up his bare chest, until she raised her arms to the sides and framed his face in the feathers. There was nothing in her sight but his face, surrounded by white; there was nothing but him, his smile and his smell, his skin against her arms, his lips on hers as she pulled him down by the hair and kissed him.

The watchers gave a whistle of approval that nearly split their ears; it would have raised the roof, if there was one. The Doctor seemed to understand what that meant.

"Thank you! Thank you!" he carolled, grabbing Sarah and diving off the stage. Quick feathered hands took the fans and draped their clothing over them loosely, as the whistling behind them grew louder and louder.

"Come on!" he shouted, and she ran at his side, looking over her shoulder for one last glimpse of the dancing hall.

It was the centre of a whirlwind; feathered forms soaring up from it, bellies and beaks lit by firelight, flapping black against the stars and cutting across the two moons. Like a flurry of autumn leaves, but all alive...

The TARDIS was there, and they both ran inside – and didn't stop running.

"Come on!" the Doctor urged her, dragging her by one hand now. Sarah protested, but followed as he took her down a corridor, left, right, down a ramp, up another ramp, left, left, and then into a room dominated by a tremendous contraption of embroidered curtains and great scrolling pillars of brass.

"What?" she said, tired and confused.

"It's a feather bed!" said the Doctor, throwing himself back into it in a puff of warm air (and dust).

Sarah Jane sneezed, and blinked, and felt very much like crying for just a second. She wondered if she shouldn't have kept one of those fans, to clout the Doctor with again.

Instead she stared at him on the bed, his face beaming with delight.

She put her clothes down on the floor, picked up her knickers and put them on. Then her bra. As her blouse went on, the Doctor's slowly collapsing smile was gone, replaced with a look of worry.

"Sarah Jane...are you all right?"

She went off on him, and it was quite a relief. "Yes, I – no, I am not all right! I'm tired, and my feet hurt, and my arms, I've been waving my arms for what feels like hours, and you just want to – to snog!"

The Doctor sat up. "Oh, Sarah," he suddenly seemed to realise how little he was dressed, and removed his hat and placed it over his lap. "Oh, I am sorry."

She sneezed again, and decided against putting her skirt on for the moment.

"You never even told me what they would do if we stopped dancing," she said, her throat a little raw.

"Oh, well, I didn't, did I? Well, ah, would you like something to drink first? I've got this self-icing carafe right here-"

She nodded, and he poured out a glass of chilled water for her. He went as though to rise and hand it to her; instead she sat down on the very edge of the bed, took the glass and sipped.

"You were saying?" she prompted.

"Well, if we'd stopped, well, they would have been – they would have been very disappointed."

"Very disappointed."

"Yes."

"Very disappointed? You're going to be wearing this ice water in a minute-"

The Doctor promptly pulled a quilt over his body, cringing under the patchwork fabric with an expression of wide-eyed horror.

-"I did all that dancing for their entertainment?"

"No, no, not just that, Sarah Jane, I promise you. Ah, could you put down the water? And not on me?"

She did so, and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

'Well," the Doctor peeled down the corner of the quilt to talk to her, "you see, in six hundred years or so this planet, which is called Unyt by the way, is going to be the place where a refugee ship from Earth is going to stop, you see. Because they'll be desperately low on food and water and air, and they need to go on, you see. To a safe colony."

"And what does this have to do with me?" Sarah asked, her voice as cold as the carafe creaking on the bedside table.

"Well, the bird people, the Unytians, will be confused – they'll have a higher technology by then, you see, but no spaceships – until the refugees say that they are human. And when they say that, well, the natives will be quite delighted!"

"Delighted!?"

"Yes, you see, because they'll have this wonderful story about a human woman who came and danced for them, long ago. She appeared out of nowhere, and danced when the moons were just right, and the great peace ceremonies were to be held. And because of her dance, and the dances that followed, all the peoples of that world decided on one speech and one law, and became one world. Humans will be their friends, you see. And they will be friends, Sarah, wonderful friends!"

"Friends?" Sarah smiled. "Really? And you knew that we; did you bring me here on purpose? To dance?"

"Oh no, no. I'm afraid the portraits didn't look too much like you. Or like me. They got the hair all wrong, too long and featherish-"

"What?!" Sarah Jane sat straighter. "There are portraits of me dancing?"

"Well of course! You're a great figure from history for them, like a Queen."

"Or Salome and her veils." Sarah suddenly flung herself backwards on the bed, arms wide, and laughed. And sneezed.

"You know," the Doctor said, reaching out with a quilt-covered toe and nudging Sarah's ribs, "they say that a sneeze is one-tenth of an orgasm."

"Oh do they?" said Sarah Jane, running her hand over the quilt as well. She found the firm line of the Doctor's thigh, and then the line of something else firm. "Are you planning on making me sneeze seven more times?"

"Nooo..."

"Good, because I don't like to sneeze." She rolled to her knees, and knee-walked up to the Doctor's shoulder, discarding her knickers along the way. "But I do like your tongue, and your fingers, and that wonderful sweet cock of yours. And if we've danced our way into history, Doctor, the least you can do is keep the dance going."

He smiled as she knelt over his face, freeing his hands and running them up the backs of her thighs and cupping her buttocks.

"Dance for me?" he said.

"Yes," she sighed, sinking down onto the warm wonderful intimacy of his mouth against her skin.

And they danced.


End file.
